


what do you take me for?

by the_other_lutece_sister



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: ...again, BDSM, Blood, F/M, Murder, rachel duncan kills a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_other_lutece_sister/pseuds/the_other_lutece_sister
Summary: Rachel Duncan, tying up the loose end that is Ferdinand. Vaguely set after the S.4 finale.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If I keep writing it, it will happen...please. We've been so good.

Rachel tipped her head to the side slightly and gazed at her reflection, one hand lightly touching the wall for balance, the other smoothing it’s way down the elegant curves of her torso. The silver of her nails shone against the midnight-blue silk of the slip and she hummed in her throat at the smoothness of the fabric, the firmness of her skin as her fingers reached her thighs.

A muffled noise came from behind her, and she reluctantly moved her gaze away from herself and to the other occupant of the room.

Ferdinand hung from the showerhead by the wrists, still fully dressed. His mouth was opened wide around a ball gag. Rachel looked at it with distaste - she didn’t care all that much for these toys and bindings that _he_ loved so. For her, the pleasure in manipulating someone exactly where she wanted them, into seeing her as their only possible choice, was far greater than literal chains. But, sometimes, people just wouldn’t keep a civil tongue in their heads...so it was gag him, or be tempted to cut the thing off if he kept blabbering. She was leaning towards the latter even now, although the grunting noises and the drool _were_ almost amusing.

 

“Shh, Ferdinand,” she purred, moving close enough to touch him (but not touching him. Not yet. Let him wait.) “You’re being very impatient.” His eyes were full of the usual lust and hunger, heightened, perhaps, by the change in their usual routine. The shower was a new setting, for Ferdinand, at least. Rachel was still haunted by the grainy security footage that showed Sarah Manning hanging here by zip-tied wrists, the trickle of blood running down her throat, the terror on her face as she attempted to bargain with Daniel.

Rachel closed her eyes for a moment as she thought of her now-dead monitor. The last in a long, long line, but possibly her favourite. Obedient to a fault and with a viciousness that matched her own. Helena, that feral _animal,_ had taken him away and Rachel would have her put down for that...eventually. It’s not that she _missed_ him, it was the _principle_ of the thing. She thought again about Sarah, bleeding, afraid, and let her lips curve into a smile.

 

She opened her eyes again and sauntered back over to the mirror, the heels on her Louboutins clicking sharply on the marble floor. Her fingers ran over the row of bottles and she picked one seemingly at random. Pulling the stopper, she sniffed, nodded, and dabbed a little on either wrist, and behind each ear. She checked her makeup, and ran her eyes down her own form again, satisfied. The negligee was one of her favourites and had been in it’s rightful spot in her wardrobe.  The apartment had looked exactly as she had last left it - she had ensured it had been thoroughly cleaned and aired after Sarah’s _last_ little incursion.

 

Oh, yes. She had seen that security footage as well. She had found it oddly...exciting. (Although, if she ever had the chance, she would have that pathetic french doctor deported, at the very least.) Rachel’s eyes flicked to her cane standing against the doorway. She was walking much better over short distances now, and eventually she may not even need it. She rather liked the feel of it in her hand, though, the weight of it, the way her thumb smoothed over and around the silver handle. She’d never had to arm herself, not with actual weapons, but now...she remembered the sensation of the knife plunging into Sarah’s leg, her stomach tightened, and she compulsively ran her hand down from her breasts to her crotch... _now_ , she saw the use of it.

She picked the cane up, tapping it on her palm, seeing Ferdinand’s eyes open in anticipation. He was _so_ predictable. If he hadn’t proved so useful over the years she would have done this a long time ago. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have done it herself at all, just deposited a large untraceable sum of money into an account and wiped him from her mind. Now, after - _everything_ \- she wanted to be hands on. Her last encounter with Sarah had taught her it felt _good_ to get your hands dirty on occasion. She narrowed her eyes.

The cane slowly moved up the inside of his legs, tapping from side to side, forcing him to move them apart. She then made the movements sharper, carefully ensuring the tip of the cane knocked against bone. Ferdinand winced and tried to speak around the gag, but only managed to make more gurgling sounds. She lifted the cane and ran it down the side of his face, then jammed it against his chin and pushed his head up.

“Oh, Ferdinand.” Rachel’s voice was full of fake nostalgia. “Do you remember Helsinki?” She moved the cane and he nodded eagerly. She smiled. Of _course_ he remembered.

She moved closer to him. “Do you remember how I told you about Veera Suominen, how she taunted me about my parents death, how traumatized I was,” she moved even closer and could sense him straining to make contract. "And you _believed_ it all."

“You’re the only one who can make me feel safe, Ferdinand,” she sang in a mocking tone, then laughed as his eyes took on a wounded appearance. She stepped back, placing both hands on top of the cane and leaning forward on it. “You were _so_ easy to manipulate. And _far_ too easy to seduce, considering I was only _seventeen_ at the time.” She moved back over to the counter, leaning the cane against the door again, her eyes travelling from her mirrored face to the lace edging her thighs, and back up again. She could see Ferdinands face in the mirror too, the lust had turned to wariness and confusion. Soon it would become fear. She ran a finger down the straight razor, smiling fondly at the memory of it slicing into Sarah’s flesh, then picked it up, turning it so the light gleamed off the edge. Ferdinand’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

 

“Did you seriously believe I _liked_ that tacky necklace, Ferdinand?” Rachel shook her head. “You presume to know me so _well._ And yet - “ she held the razor in front of her face, tilting it to catch her reflection, “ - you _only_ know the me I’ve deigned to _show_ you.” She preened a little to the razor-mirror, then smiled at the man hanging in front of her. She thought he was trying to say her name. She considered removing the gag, tapping a finger against her jaw, then decided against it. She could go without hearing his whining, ever again.

 

His wide eyes followed the blade unblinkingly, as Rachel raised it again, dragging the flat of it down the side of his face. The fear in his eyes now was intoxicating. Was this how Daniel had felt? Her hand trembled slightly as she moved the razor so it sat against the soft skin behind Ferdinand’s ear, just enough pressure for him to feel it, not enough to break the skin.

He jerked his head away and the razor slipped and nicked the earlobe, and blood began dripping. His wordless protests were quite strident now. Rachel thought he was trying to scream, and was amused. Surely past experience had taught him that sounds - even screams - wouldn’t reach outside the apartment and even if they did, the other residents would never do something so plebeian as call the police.

Rachel reached up and gripped his hair tightly, roughly pushing his head to the side, her arm muscles straining. In her excitement, she barely felt it. She resettled the razor blade and slowly drew it down his neck, the skin parting like a bloody mouth opening.

He was definitely screaming now.

 

She studied the wound, noting the blood was oozing slowly. She had avoided the major arteries. Her hand tightened in his hair and yanked his head around so the right side of his neck was exposed. Rachel repeated her action with the razor and more blood ran down, staining the white collar of his shirt. She took a step back. Her eyes avidly ran over his face, the panic, the fear, the fury, the pain - it was delightful. Without even thinking, her fingers danced down her body and cupped herself. The lace was damp, and she shuddered slightly as she pressed down, glancing sideways at her reflection. The contrast between her unruffled perfection and the sweaty squirming bloody mess beside her was breathtaking.

 

But the sounds he was making were distracting, and she suddenly wanted it finished. Running a finger along the razor, she studied the collected blood for a moment, then wiped it on the ball gag and smeared it around Ferdinand’s lips.

“Poor, damaged, Rachel.” She parroted his own words back at him. “How do you like my repugnant self-pity now, hmm?” She made a shallow cut down one cheek. He groaned in pain through the gag. For the sake of symmetry, she slashed down the other cheek as well, then gripped his throat and shoved his head back so the veins stood out. Tilting her head, she traced the razor over the carotid, gritted her teeth and with some effort, pushed the blade in deeply. The blood that spurted out in slow waves was bright red.

 

Rachel thought about the first lipstick she had ever worn.

 

When the blood had slowed, and Ferdinand’s head was hanging limply forward, she carefully stepped over to the sink, feeling an odd giddiness. She ran warm water over the razor, watching the blood swirl around the drain and wash away. The shining silver was laid back onto the crisp white towel, straight and gleaming. A facecloth was dampened and used to wipe away the drops of blood from her arms and chest. She washed her hands thoroughly, patted them dry, applied hand lotion that smelled faintly like sandalwood. She didn’t look away from her own eyes and the deep, fierce joy they displayed.

She felt as if another long string tying her to DYAD had been cut. As she touched her fingertips to the mirror, tracing the contours of her face, Rachel hummed under her breath.

 

She felt - free.

**Author's Note:**

> soundtrack - A Little Place Called Trust by the paper chase
> 
> Who do you think you are?  
> Who do you think you are -  
> To shove away the hand so fast?  
> Who do you think you are?  
> Well, maybe I'm the devil,  
> To harbor the sick and obscene.  
> Maybe this, the albatross,  
> I'm like an ivory tower -  
> Level or power, but  
> You are not the innocent.  
> What do you take me for,  
> You motherfucker?  
> What do you take me for,  
> When I'm a shepherd's light,  
> When I'm a quantum leap?  
> You don't want freedom;  
> You want trick photography.  
> It's a good thing  
> I'm an airbrushed girl,  
> A diamond ring.  
> I need it new;  
> I need it rising above.  
> (Meanwhile),  
> The jury laughs at you, love.  
> You are not the innocent.  
> Oh, dirty hands,  
> A little place called trust,  
> But you ain't sold one, yet.


End file.
